no need for logic
by Apolla2
Summary: Hermione and Harry find out some things don't need logic. one shot... be nice...


Hermione tossed and turned in her bed; she always did this when a problem racked her mind. Right now it was damn near molesting it. She had hoped for a while that the energy was from having her first story show up in the Daily Prophet, but she knew it wasn't. She closed her eyes tightly and was dismayed at what she saw. After debating this problem for at least an hour in her mind, she shook her head in a sad attempt to clear her thoughts and propped herself up. The curly, brown haired girl rubbed her temples and closed her eyes again. If there were only a clear-cut answer. She sighed at the way she was acting; she was never inclined to do childish things like this over anyone else. Why did he have to live with her? She could cut herself off, really she could. If he didn't live with her she could just stop seeing him until that damn fuzzy feeling went away. Yeah, that's why you keep closing your eyes just to meet his. Her mind told her in her own horribly lofty tone she knew she used when she knew something someone else didn't.  
  
She hated and loved to close her eyes. Every time she did she found the same thing she had been staring at for the nine years. Okay, so the green eyes she found in her vision had been a new thing, but the person who owned them had been there for a while. She giggled when she thought of him, and hated it. She hated the fact that just thinking of him could make her smile. She hated that her analytical mind turned to sludge when he gave his signature lopsided grin. If he didn't do the dishes because he and Ron were out playing Quiddich, he grinned and the dishes seemed to melt and the world revolved around that "oh I'm sorry, please forgive me because I'm so cute" grin. She hated that every other night when she came into the apartment he was sitting there on the couch with another girl. She hated that she looked forward to the days when it was just Harry in the apartment, trying (and failing) to cook dinner when Ron wasn't there. She hated it even more when on cold nights, like this one, they would go into a friendly cuddled with his arm around her and the calluses on his hand tickled her skin and they would shared a blanket on the couch. Those few harmonious moments when it was painfully apparent they were meant to be together. Yet the worst was when he was so close his strong heartbeat drummed in her ears, strangling her thoughts and letting her heart be the judge.  
  
Why hadn't she done the intelligent thing and said no to the two boys when they asked her to share an apartment with them? Simple, Harry had gotten so close that his heartbeat was the only thing she could hear, her mind turned to sludge and her heart shouted yes so loud that Harry heard it. She, again, hated when her heat told her vocal chords what to say, it was always the exact opposite of what her mind would have said. While her mind was exploring all these versions of hate, she was standing at her dresser looking at a picture of Harry and Ron smiling and joking outside of Hogwarts. That was one of the few time the Creevy brothers didn't annoy her, when they had given her that picture as a present at graduation. She knew Ron had one of she and Harry, and Harry had one of she and Ron. Hermione saw that smile replay and flipped the picture down to face the dresser.  
  
He didn't love her, and she didn't love him. It was simple; they were best friends. She wouldn't ruin that for the world, not for some stupid fling that wouldn't work out. She grumbled as she remembered the brief weeks she went out with Ron. Luckily she had stopped the relationship before snogging would be an issue. Then she thought about Harry's lips, how she wouldn't mind- what am I doing? She hit her forehead, like that would jar the thought out of her brain. That only brought foreword the memory of tonight, when she found her story.  
  
She had jumped up and screamed when she found it, another very un-Hermione like thing, but still she had grasped the paper and read out the title and her pen name. Harry looked almost scared at her first out burst, but after hearing her say. "Harry, this is my story." He jumped up and hugged her.  
  
"Mione, I knew you could do it!" He paused, furrowing his brow, then restarted. "Mione I..." He was going to say something, but Ron coming in cut him off. Their faces were inches apart; Hermione could hear his heartbeat again. She had barely noticed Ron and Lavender come in, both pretty loud and drunk. She saw something in his eyes she had never noticed before, but once he glanced at Ron it left.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione breathed.  
  
The furrow left and his face was the handsome picture of joy it had been before. "Oh, just that it's wonderful Hermione. Do I get to read it now?" He grinned and engulfed her in another hug. Hermione had a very strict, "no reading my work till it comes out in print" policy.  
  
"Are we interrupting something?" Ron said, grinning, with his arm wrapped around the waist of a very smashed Lavender. "No, we were just celebrating Hermione's story getting into the Daily Prophet." He realized his arms were snaked around her waist. He gave a sheepish grin and took a step back.  
  
She sighed again. That memory had been playing in her mind for the last few minutes. Why did things like this have to be complicated? Give her a page long Arithmacy problem and she'll be ready in five minutes. There was no guessing in that. She dropped Divination for that reason; there was no concrete evidence, just cold tealeaves and fog. All she needed was an undeniable act that showed he loved her back, not a glimmer in his eye or an arm around her shoulders.  
  
This feeling wasn't helped when Lavender started giving her wizarding romance books. She was so disgusted with how unreal they were, love couldn't be like that. She finally wrote her own, but as she wrote she found herself putting more and more of Harry's characteristics in the hero. Then she found herself putting her features into the heroine. She noticed this when it came time for the main characters to say 'I love you.' She faltered when she wrote it. Even in her notes the word is slightly jagged from her hand shaking.  
  
She had always had a problem telling people she loved them. Like almost everything she did, it had to be well thought out and planned. She had to have explored every dark corner with a torch. She couldn't even tell her long time boyfriend that she loved him, which was part of the reason they broke up four months ago. She told herself, logically of course, that she couldn't very well say it if she didn't whole-heartedly believe it. Especially in those last few months she seemed to see emerald every time they kissed. She had made that epiphany during one of those three o'clock in the morning, "I've got something on my mind" mornings, like she was having now. It was in those mornings that thoughts like this came up. She had also told herself, logically, that this feeling for Harry must just be her love for him as a friend that made her feel this way. Honestly, even she didn't believe that.  
  
She started pacing the bookshelf-lined room. When a concrete answer can't be found, why not try the next best thing.  
  
Does Harry love me? Will Harry love me? Am I in love with Harry? She shook the magic 8 ball her mother had gotten her and always got, "Who knows." "Ask another time" and "Haven't the foggiest." She frowned at the very un- Hermione like things she had been doing. This can't be love, it wouldn't be this cold hearted. It wouldn't make me tremble every time he was near, but let him keep his calm and friendly place. Look at me, I'm pacing in my apartment at three o'clock in the morning and consulting my magic 8 ball about my pent up attraction to my best friend, I am mental. At least I admitted I had pent up attraction that time.  
  
She sighed and started shaking it one last time while going into the living room.  
  
Harry lay there staring up into the ceiling of his flat. He was staring so intently, like it held all the answers. I have a beautiful flat with my two best friends and a great job as an arour, why am I not happy? He sighed, he knew perfectly well why. He also knew perfectly well why he should go to sleep and let his mind deal with it in the morning. He had been dealing with it for nine years, how would four more hours of contemplating make a difference? Okay, not nine years, there had been a good five years where Hermione had been just his great friend, then that whole she's a good looking, intelligent, charming, and lovely female friend thing started to become a problem. Ron had been first to notice, most everyone thought their constant bickering had been the beginnings of love, even they did for a while, but then the bickering was seen to actually be just bickering. After that Harry started to notice things about her. Those little things that made her Hermione, like when she bit her bottom lip while she read a passage that could mean something. How she always seemed to forgive him even though she had a right to be mad. How making her smile would be a goal even when he was on a date with someone else. Even how she twirled a lock of honey brown hair in her left hand when she was reading a romance novel. She didn't do this often, only lately had Lavender loaned her some books.  
  
He had always felt a twinge of sorrow at every moment with her. He was happy when he was with her, indescribably so, but there was a mantel of sadness that crushed him. He knew there could be something more, some happiness beyond what he had now. He had felt almost suffocated since he had left their couch at ten. It had been cold, so they both shared a blanket, one of the many quilts sent by Mrs. Weasely. He had let himself put his arm around her, which was a bad idea. When she leaned her head on his shoulder he wondered if she knew how much he cared about her. While lost in this thought Hermionie jumped up and screamed. He half thought it was because of him, but she was looking at the paper and jumping up and down.  
  
"They...they used it! Oh my... they printed it."  
  
"What, what's wrong?"  
  
"Harry, this my story." She breathed.  
  
He jumped up as well and wrapped his arms around her.  
  
"Mione, I knew you could do it!" He wanted so much to kiss her. She was doing something she was proud of and wanted to do. This was his moment, he felt that she loved him and nothing could stop him from showing her. "Mione, I-" All his resolve and Gryffindor courage hit the ground when Ron and Lavender came in.  
  
"What is it?" He realized he still had his arms around her.  
  
"Oh, it's just that it's wonderful! Can I read it now?" He smiled and gave her another hug.  
  
That's where his mind wandered back to the crushed paper still in the living room. He left right after Ron and Lavender went into Ron's room and never read it. So, since I can't go to sleep anyway.  
  
He padded quietly into the living room and lay back onto the couch, snuggling under the scarlet quilt.  
  
Hermione shook it one last time while she tiptoed into the living room. She never looked up, afraid of tripping over various objects on the floor.  
  
"You know that doesn't work unless you say the question out loud." Harry said giving her a small smile over the armrest.  
  
"Well, that explains it." She let her arm drop to her side, walked over to the couch, and kneeled down. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Just reading your story." He gave a knee-watering grin. "It's great Hermione, I knew you'd do something like this." She smiled at the praise. "The heroine bears a great resemblance to you."  
  
"Yes, I seemed to have done that. I guess I took away some of my faults, like I made her beautiful and courageous." She studied her hands and bit her bottom lip.  
  
He laughed. "You are beautiful and courageous, Mione." He pulled a piece of hair out of her face.  
  
She looked up in time to see the glimmer enter his eyes again. "Don't flatter me Mr. Potter, it does no good."  
  
"Oh, but if the great Alexis is a reflection of you then this Jack has done far worse than I."  
  
She turned a little pink, but hoped he didn't see it in the dim light. "It's only what I wish my Jack would say to me."  
  
I missed my chance. She loves someone else. Harry's face drained of color. "So, who's Jack?" He said shakily, trying to grin.  
  
She smiled like a child with a secret. I'm not going to say anything; I'm not going to say anything. Harry's heartbeat drummed out what she was thinking so her heart took the reins on her vocal chords. "It's not really a Jack, more of a. Harry?" She practically breathed that last part, speaking it as a question in awaiting his reaction.  
  
He got butterflies, if only Malfoy knew that Hermione gave him butterflies. He would think it was disgusting, but the fact that after all of his exploits one woman could give him butterflies.  
  
Now Hermione didn't know how to take the silence, and in the dim light from the kitchen she couldn't read his expression, but she was experiencing a lot more than butterflies, more like dragons. "Harry?"  
  
"I hate to sound dense, but can I inquire this young man's surname?" He meant to sound paternal, but only ended up croaking.  
  
She grinned because she could read his features now and saw the glimmer in his eyes and the way he was acting the same way she was. With love that's about as concrete as she needed. She was already only inches away from his face. She closed in and kissed him softly on the lips, feeling a jolt of electricity. "Take a wild guess." She said in his ear.  
  
He returned the kiss. It was almost as soft as a feather brushing her lips, but it was enough for Hermionie's lips tingled and her dragons to be quelled, but the second her left her lips the dragons became restless.  
  
She barley heard Harry. "You have no idea how long I've waited for that." He breathed.  
  
She snapped back and smiled from her post on the floor, still grasping the magic 8 ball. "Probably about how long I have."  
  
They just looked into each other's eyes and Harry touched her face, caressing the soft curve of her jaw.  
  
They heard the door of Ron's room open. "Are we finally interrupting something or should I be the one to tell you Harry loves you?" Ron beamed at his two friends in his maroon boxers.  
  
Then Lavender's Cheshire cat grin came over his shoulder. "And Harry, Hermione loves you."  
  
"Yes, you are interrupting something, but we hadn't gotten to that part yet." Hermione said.  
  
"Yeah, thanks for spoiling the ending." Harry said smiling. Ron quietly closed his door, still beaming, before the hangover snuck up.  
  
"He's got a point, what will happen to us now? What's our ending Harry?"  
  
He leaned back over and kissed her deeply with his hands smoothing her hair, electricity coursing through their bodies. "Happily ever after." He whispered.  
  
She leaned into his kiss and let it make her lips tingle. Then she crawled up onto the couch and curled up under the blanket with Harry's soft heartbeat in her ears. They laid there for the rest of the night, just enjoying each other's heartbeat. Hermione's hand on the magic 8 ball loosened and it rolled silently across the floor. It found its rest, right side up in the corner. It read "Absolutely." 


End file.
